


hang like ghosts

by jewishfitz



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (vaguely) - Freeform, Archivist Sasha AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Spoilers for MAG 161, mentions of the NotThem, notjon au, ship can be read as platonic or romantic at this stage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewishfitz/pseuds/jewishfitz
Summary: Jon survives the NotThem. It’s not easy, returning to a universe you were written out of.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 41
Kudos: 469





	hang like ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Since MAG 161 dropped, I’ve seen a lot of people kicking around archivist!sasha AUs where Jon gets taken by the NotThem at the end of MAG 39 ([@skyberia](https://skyberia.tumblr.com/)’s [art](https://skyberia.tumblr.com/post/614477079959027712/some-further-notjon-thoughts-bonus-when-sasha) is especially awesome). The NotThem is my favorite monster from TMA, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to try and recover from something like that. So, here’s this weird little archivist!sasha adjacent au.  
> Title is from You Can Do Better Than Me by Death Cab for Cutie. Unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own.

Jon is back. He doesn’t really know what that’s supposed to mean, but it’s something he’s been told fairly often these days.

He’s back. Hence, he was, at some point, gone. Jon doesn’t remember being gone. He remembers hiding out in artifact storage during Jane Prentiss’ siege of the institute. He remembers the table. He remembers feeling watched. He remembers something finding him, then not much else.

And then he remembers being back. Which he is, now. Back. Nobody really knows how or why, or at least they haven’t said anything if they do. He came to in the tunnels, after Sasha had, apparently, contained the creature known as the NotThem. The creature that had been pretending to be him for the past 6 months. The thing that had been living in his flat, using his desk, drinking his tea, talking to his friends. The thing that had been him for 6 months that he can’t remember.

He doesn’t like to think about it.

So, his first strategy is just to ignore it, because that seems to be the way he always tackles his problems. It hasn’t failed him yet. Except, maybe it did. He doesn’t really remember.

He knows, in a vague, detached, academic sort of way, what it must have been like for the others. He researched the Patel case. He knows how it works. Still, during the brief visits they made to him during his mandatory (he protested, they insisted) post-reappearance hospital stay, they firmly avoided the topic. They still do.

But Jon sees the way they look at him. Confused.

Jon is confused too, because now that he’s back at his desk and back in his flat, everything feels wrong. It takes him ages to find the things he needs, because _apparently_ the creature that stole his identity thought it would get _comfortable_ and now his stationary is in his documents drawer and his documents are stacked according to case number instead of priority and–

It feels horribly wrong. He feels horribly wrong.

The tricky thing is, though, that he’s not entirely back, because all the photos of him still have that _thing’s_ face on them. Every time he sees one it makes his head swim and his stomach drop, so he avoids it whenever he can. He’s glad his lack of a social media presence is finally paying off, because lord knows what would have happened if _it_ had found its way into his accounts.

The employees of his favorite cafe no longer recognize his face. They share a startled laugh when he gives his name, on his first day back at the institute, and the well-meaning barista leans over the counter and says “you know, we have a regular with that _exact same name_ , what a small–”

Jon mumbles something about changing his mind, and leaves the cafe as fast as humanly possible. He finds a new one, where they only know the him that he is now.

He finds himself, strangely, spending quite a lot of time with Melanie, who, apparently, works at the Institute now. Melanie remembers him. Melanie remembers him, because that’s how this all works. It’s easy, talking to her, because he doesn’t have to pretend to ignore the split second of hazy uncertainty that crosses all his friends’ faces when he talks these days. She remembers. They never used to get along, not by far, but now they get lunch together every once and awhile, and their conversations rarely end in shouting matches. She’ll never admit it, but Jon thinks that she’s honestly kind of glad he’s back. Maybe. He’s not sure.

So he has Melanie now, he thinks. But he can’t take much solace in that, because Tim and Sasha and Martin, _god, Martin,_ are still walking on eggshells around him. He tries to ignore it, but it’s hard when they all keep doing double takes every time he hands one of them a file. He knows it must be weird for them, like maybe he’s the one who's the replacement and not the other way around, but that thought isn’t much help.

And then one day Martin leaves coffee on his desk instead of tea, and Jon feels something inside him snap. He and Martin haven’t always been on the best of terms. Back when Jon first joined the archives, he had found Martin’s constant fretting and offerings of tea nothing but annoying. But once Martin began living in the archives, Jon had started to feel… neutral. Solidly neutral. They had shared late-night snacks, and hovered over case files together in the soft florescent lights of document storage. They had… started talking. Jon wouldn’t say they had quite become friends, not just yet. Jon isn’t well versed in that sort of thing. 

But then Jon had been gone. And now he’s back. And the coffee somehow feels worse than any other part of the whole ordeal. He clearly fails at keeping these emotions off his face, because Martin immediately blanches and starts stammering. 

“I’m sorry, I– You– I mean he, sorry–” He suddenly gets very quiet. “ _It_ didn’t like tea, I guess.”

Jon’s mouth is dry. He opens it, closes it, and opens it again. His vision goes a little bit blurry.

So he can’t ignore it anymore.

He can tell Martin feels bad about the whole incident, and Jon wants to tell him that he has nothing to feel bad about, it’s not his fault that Jon was stupid enough to get body-snatched by some malevolent fear creature, but Jon doesn’t quite know how to say all of that. There’s no manual for reclaiming your identity after seemingly vanishing from existence for 6 months. As far as Jon knows, he’s the first person who’s ever come back from the NotThem. He doesn’t exactly have any references available.

So, when Martin nervously approaches him one afternoon a few days after the coffee incident, Jon’s already constructing some badly phrased but heartfelt speech in response to what he’s sure is yet another apology. Instead of speaking, though, Martin puts something on his desk. That something happens to be a polaroid, and he’s the one who’s in it, it’s _him_ not–

It’s a selfie from Martin’s birthday last year, when they had all gone out for ice cream. Jon even vaguely remembers Martin taking the photo. They're all crammed into the frame, with Tim giving the camera a thumbs up and Sasha is rolling her eyes. He hadn’t really wanted to be photographed at the time, but Tim had teased him and Martin had looked so excited that he decided not to make a fuss. Jon looks rumpled and slightly uncomfortable, but he’s smiling, quietly. They look happy, all of them.

Martin shrugs. “Lucky I went through a hipster phase last year, huh?”

Jon had never liked photos of himself, not before, but suddenly the polaroid in his hands feels like his most precious possession.

Martin pulls a chair up to the side of Jon’s desk and sits down. “Can I… I want to say something about _it_. Is that– would you be alright with that?”

Jon nods, eyes still locked on the photo. They’re all a little more scarred, now. Some more visibly than others.

Martin exhales, long and slow. “I’m not going to lie to you Jon. I couldn’t see through it, or around it, whatever. Not like Melanie could. But I– I–” Martin starts fiddling with his hands in the way he does, sometimes, when he’s thinking. Jon had missed that, which is strange because he didn’t seem to miss 6 whole months of his life. Jon smiles, and the expression feels unfamiliar on his face.

Martin looks at him, for a moment, and then softly continues. “I didn’t notice, but I did– it– it didn’t seem right. You were–” Martin laughs, rough and abrupt. “It was too polite. When I’d offer to bring it something from the break room it would always say ‘oh, only if it’s not too much trouble.’” He laughs again, quieter this time. “So I didn’t notice, not really but… it didn’t feel right.”

Martin looks at him, searchingly, and Jon holds his gaze. He tilts his head a little, like he’s trying to see something from the right angle. Jon can’t help it when his smile turns into a grin.

Martin nods, like he’s made up his mind. “It feels right, now.”

Jon laughs, for the first time in a while. “I should hope so.”

Martin grins, and gives Jon’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “It’s good to have you back.”

His hand is warm, and Jon nods. “It’s good to be back.”

**Author's Note:**

> This one specifically goes out to anyone who’s ever caught their own reflection in a mirror and not recognized it for a moment. It’ll mess you up, bro.  
> Find me on tumblr [@jewishfitz](https://jewishfitz.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
